


Bound

by Rigel99



Series: To Be a Quartermaster [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: AO3 Tags - Freeform, Flirting Like It's Going Out Of Fashion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-19 08:12:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5960323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rigel99/pseuds/Rigel99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exploration of the past mingled with the present of our most quintessential Quartermaster and his evolving relationship with MI6's finest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JuJuBee (Marcy09)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marcy09/gifts).



> A little prologue teaser of things to come. I've had so much fun getting to know these boys, I started rolling around ideas for a sequel as soon as I finished To Woo A Q. Let's see where he takes us now.

“Care for some company?”

Q felt Bond arrive beside him, skulking smooth as a panther as Q was making his way back to his office to produce the final brief for M on the required hardware for the next Double-O assignment.

“Shouldn’t you be wholly absorbed in the brief of your next mission, 007?”

“How difficult can it be?” said James. “A simple infiltration - extraction exercise. Could do it with my eyes closed.”

“You should know, Q, having been on the receiving end of such manoeuvres only three nights ago.”

“Impropriety, 007?”

“You’re absolutely right, Q. I should at least wait until we’re in your office.”

Q turned his head to hide the smile. It had been less than a month since he had become 'romantically involved' (for want of a better turn of phrase) with the man, and the benefits of such a liaison on both of them were certainly not to be denied.

As Q entered his office, Bond shadowing him a couple of steps behind, closed the door and leaned his back against it, a look of pure mischief in his steel blue eyes. “Alone at last…”

“You mean despite the internal security camera system that can track the intricate movement of flies at 100 paces? Hardly alone, Bond,” said Q, giving him a pained look from over the rim of his glasses as he took the seat behind his desk.

“Not even a little taste to tide over a starving man?” Bond teased, moving forward to take the seat opposite.

_Bastard._

“I believe the words M used involved riverbed and footnote. That may have sounded like an endorsement to you, but it sounded like a threat to me and one I plan on taking seriously.”

“You are absolutely no fun, Q.”

Of course, Q could easily static the cameras in his office and blame a glitch in the system which he could quickly correct before any suspicions were roused. But that way madness lay and Q suspected that time would do nothing to alleviate how mad Commander Bond would drive him. Distraction in the office environment was not an option.

“The SIS don’t pay me to be fun, Bond. Now, pay attention…”


	2. Chapter 2

**_Many Moons Ago, Harrow School, London._ **

“You’re a bloody menace, Plastow!”

The Principal was not a happy man. But that’s what happens when you get caught triggering the sprinklers to disrupt a class for which you haven’t done your assignment so as to buy a bit more time. Teachers and Principals tend to get a little irked by such behaviour.

“And as for you, Clifton, I expected you to know better! You’re not in this college to muck about. This is a place of education, established with the sole purpose of shaping the finest British minds into something worthy of representing this great nation and its interests at home and abroad.”

Winston Churchill loomed large and ominous above them, a portrait reminder of the former pupils that had once wandered the grounds of Harrow School, hanging silent but all the more present in the Principal’s office.

“ Success consists of going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm,” said Plastow smoothly, “to quote a former pupil of this illustrious establishment.”

_Oh God,_ Arthur thought to himself. _What’s he doing? Trying to get us expelled?_

The briefest look of thunder passed over the Principal’s face as he rested an intent look on Plastow. What that intent was had yet to be revealed but Arthur was sure it wouldn’t be pretty.

“Why thank you for those pearls of wisdom, Mr Plastow. I can only assume that you define your failure in this particular case as getting caught and despite that fact you will continue in unabated enthusiasm regardless of the consequences for your actions.”

Arthur had to force himself not to roll his eyes and risk incurring further wrath. _Well done, Phillip._

“You will both stay late after school every day this week and assist the librarian with his duties,” he said, straight to the point. Arthur almost breathed a sigh of relief. Being surrounded by books for a week didn’t sound like much of a punishment. He’d take it. Gladly.

Phillip began to protest. “You can’t do that! Once my Father hears—“

The Principal stepped close to Plastow and loomed above the boy, despite the fact that Phillip was quite tall himself, the Principal had the added benefit of, well, being the Principal of the most prestigious school in London. Arthur kept his eyes trained dead ahead.

“It may interest you to know, Mr Plastow,” interrupted the Principal, “that your Father and I have had a few meetings about you and your behaviour. And while we cannot ignore the fact that he is one of our most generous benefactors, we also cannot be held to ransom by pupils who think they can run roughshod over a system that has stood us in fine stead for over 400 years!”

He circled his table as he spoke before coming to stand in front of them again, almost daring either of them to speak out of turn again. Both refrained.

“We have enough challenges without unruly boys who need to learn their place in this world and that for respect to be earned it must first be given. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Now. Go check in with the librarian. I’ll let him know you’re coming and let him decide what best use to which to put you both. Dismissed.”

* * *

**Present Day**

Q looked with affection at the scene currently being broadcast from Bond’s lapel cam. The British Library had to be one of his favourite places in the world. All that knowledge from across time gathered in one place. When he stood inside the walls, he imagined he could feel the words permeate his skin and his mind, the air was so incredibly thick with all that condensed information, roaming the space, looking for minds to process, understand and use their offerings, and translate that knowledge into something good, useful, wholesome. 

“You know, people underestimate the power of books as weapons,” Q found himself saying almost absent-mindedly, not really expecting Bond to acknowledge the observation.

“I certainly don’t,” replied Bond.

“Really, 007? You don’t strike me as much of a reader. More a man of action, not words.”

“I’m not. I meant as an actual weapon. Quite effective I’ve found, if nothing else is to hand, in the act of fending off the amorous advances of a Double O.”

Q had to stifle a laugh at the memory conjured. “Well, yes, there is that as well.”

“There she is,” Q said, “11 O’Clock.”

The woman in question headed towards Bond without acknowledging him, and walked close enough to graze his arm and drop her book. He picked it up casually and handed it back to her.

“Thank you,” she said, unable to keep the demure from her voice.

“A pleasure.” Q watched her face literally light up and rolled his eyes. The words “charm” and “offensive” did not belong in the same breath where 007 was concerned.

Bond carried on walking towards the exit and opened the book at an angle Q could see the contents.

“Perfect,” Q said. “Now we have the location of your contact. I’ll send up word so you’re good to go first thing in the morning,” he continued, tapping away a message on his keyboard.

“Q…”

“Yes, Bond?”

“Have you ever…?” It may have been less a month, but Q had quickly picked up on the changing nuances of Bond’s tone when he was talking about certain subjects. He switched to an alternate channel as the conversation no longer needed to be monitored.

“I swear to God, Bond, you’re the Devil in disguise. No I’ve never… in a library of all places. It’s a place of quiet and learning in case that fact had passed you by.”

“I’m sure if we looked hard enough we could find a copy of the Kama Sutra round here somewhere.”

Q ignored him. “Right. All set. You fly to Tel Aviv tomorrow.” 

“Excellent,” said Bond. “Time enough for dinner at yours then.”

Q took a pause. “Dinner… At mine?”

“Yes,” said Bond smoothly. “I’d like to meet these bloody cats of yours and as you haven’t invited me over to your place yet, I’m taking the initiative and inviting myself round tonight.”

Bond took Q's silence as he usually did. 

“Excellent. Expect me for 7.30pm. I’ll bring food, and maybe cat treats. If you promise to be a good boy.”


	3. Chapter 3

**At the Quartermaster’s Residence, 7.25pm**

Q opened the door. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in anything other than suits,” he said, looking Bond up and down appraisingly. “The Milk Tray man look. Very fetching,” Q said amusedly, standing aside to allow him entrance to his home.

Bond took two steps to cross the threshold and stopped dead. Sitting halfway down the hallway, already looking like they were planning the demise of this new intruder on their territory, two pairs of amber-green eyes stared unblinking at him. He carefully put down the bags he was holding and slipped off his jacket and handed it back to Q, his own unblinking stare never dropping from the challenge before him. Q took the jacket and leaned against the wall, still smiling.

Bond reached into his pocket of his trousers and for a fleeting moment, Q thought he was going to pull out a gun. But to his eternal surprise, Q watched as Bond lay down on the carpet at his feet and held out his hand, palm opened and up to reveal a handful of treats. George and Charles were on him like bees round a honey jar.

“I seem to recall you saying you didn’t have any time for cats.”

“I don’t,” Bond replied. “But these are your cats and I considered it prudent to get into their good books from the off, if I wanted to stay in my Quartermaster’s.”

Q said nothing, gathering up the bags while Bond stood from his brief dalliance with the felines and brushed himself off.

“These look suspiciously like grocery bags,” said Q, strolling towards the kitchen.

“Well spotted, Q,” said Bond from behind him, followed enthusiastically by his newfound furry friends. “Those deductive powers of yours are becoming more finely honed with each passing day.”

“When you said you were bringing food…”

“You thought I meant takeout? Not a chance. I’m very careful about what I put into my body.”

“You can cook?” queried Q, with raised eyebrows as he placed the bags on the counter.

“Of course I can cook. I’m not a complete luddite, contrary to your perception, Q,” said Bond, unpacking the bags.

Q watched. “Where’s the meat?”

“I’m a vegetarian, Q. I thought you knew that. We’ve shared several dinners and breakfasts together.” 

“You’re…. a vegetarian…” Q took a moment to recall their meals, and indeed, couldn’t actually remember meat being on the menu. Well, not until after dinner anyway.

Q cleared his throat. “So, what’s for dinner?”

“Italian. Linguine specifically,” he said, moving round Q’s kitchen looking a little too much as though he felt at home, even though it was his first time in the space. “And I’m afraid my Double O status extends to the culinary arts, Q.”

“Meaning…?”

“I like to work alone. So pour us both some wine,” as he handed him the bottle, an opener and two glasses, “go to your sofa and entertain the cats. I’ll be with you shortly.”

_A Quartermaster could get used to this…_

Twenty minutes later, Bond was standing in his living room admiring the space.

“Minimalist. Very you, Q.”

“I like to think so,” he replied, focussing on the furry ball purring away in his arms. Bond scanned the bookshelves, his eyes coming to rest on something that didn’t quite look like it belonged. He reached out to touch the spine and pulled.

A photo album. A wedding photo album.

“Bond.” The tone was edged with the slightest touch of warning. He pushed the item firmly back. “You do like your books.”

Q rose from the sofa to stand next to him. “I cannot fail to appreciate that without them, we would not be the evolved beings we are today. They are a constant reminder that life is worth all the pain.”

“And sometimes the pleasure…” said Bond, turning smoothly towards him. Their furry audience watched on. Q distractedly wondered if M might have had cameras installed behind their eyes… He hoped not. Fortunately, crimes of passion and severe mutual manhandling were not high on the list of MI6’s concerns… 

“Dinner,” said Q hoarsely, breaking away from Bond.

“Dinner,” said Bond, distractedly. “And then dessert,” he stated, pulling Q towards the kitchen.

“Well, that very much depends on how impressive your cooking is, Mr Bond.”

“I’m confident I’ll have you begging for more by the last mouthful,” he said through that bloody infuriatingly captivating smile.

_Bastard._

* * *

_Q was roused from his limpet-like position wrapped around James, to the agent shuffling his body attempting to rise from the bed. “Where you going?” mumbled Q drowsily. “Be right back,” whispered James._

_He returned a few minutes later bearing two glasses of iced water. Mmmmm, lifesaver, thought Q, pushing himself up on a elbow to take the proffered glass, not realising how thirsty he was until his first gulp of the cold liquid, welcoming the icy blast as it hit the inside of his chest. He opened his eyes as he ran his arm across his mouth to see James, kneeling on the bed, unmoving, just watching from the dark._

_“What?” asked Q._

_James simply downed two deep gulps from his own glass and placed it by the side of the bed. He didn’t speak as he moved to hover over Q, mirroring the move as he lay back. Dropping his head down, James released the ice cube from his mouth to between his teeth. Q arched slightly and hissed at the suddenness of the cold heat. James circled the cube twice round his chest. Q remained still as he felt the trace of a straight line beneath his collarbone and a diagonal line travel from his shoulder to his hip._

_Q laughed while James deposited the remains of the ice in his belly button and looked up at him with a smile._

_“Did you just… mark me?”_

_“Just laying claim to my territory,” he said casually. Q wasn’t sure if he should be flattered or offended._

_James lay down next to him, looking at the ceiling as he spoke. “I fight for territory, sometimes I destroy it, deliberately or unintentionally. I belong to the SIS, to MI6, to this country. Owned, not an owner. Rarely or never, do I get to call something my own.”_

_He sat up suddenly again and retrieved the ice cube from Q’s navel, swallowing it down. He looked at him then. “For this first time in a truly long time, I feel like I’m home. Arthur.”_

_Q pulled the sheets over them and wrapped himself round the agent. In that moment, all was said that was needed to be said._

* * *

He woke the next morning to an empty space but for George, the tubbier of his two fluffy companions, staring and meowing forlornly, sounding as though he hadn’t seen the inside of a tin of food since forever. Q stood, stretched and headed towards the kitchen.

He was greeted by a cup sitting by a still warm kettle, in it an Earl Grey teabag. Q pulled from beneath, a note the cup was resting on.

_“Talk when I land at Tel Aviv. See you in 3 days. I expect the fridge to be stocked with cheese, Italian wine and plenty of ice cubes for my return. J.”_

_Bugger_ , thought Q, as he hit the switch on the kettle. _Better be careful. This situation is developing the possibility of becoming positively domestic._


	4. Chapter 4

**_The Plastow Residence, 14 years previously_ **

“Want to see something cool?” whispered Phillip.

Arthur looked up from his laptop and gave him a skeptical once-over. “If it involves anything illegal that could get me in trouble then no,” he stated, returning to his assignment.

“Oh.”

Arthur looked up again. “Wait. You mean it IS illegal?”

Phillip frowned. “I’m not sure. Is voyeurism illegal?”

Arthur shrugged. “I’m not sure either though more than likely the legality is subject to what side of the fence from which you are engaged in the activity.” 

Phillip had sat down opposite him while he was speaking. Arthur knew Phillip had been crushing on him for some months now but had deftly avoided the subject. They shared many of the same classes, had lunch together and studied several times a week together, usually at Phillips house, being closer to Harrow. He wasn’t quite sure where his own personal proclivities lay on the matter. He was not, in fact aware of any form of sexual awakening yet. He’d put it down to being a late bloomer. When it happens, it happens. One has to be pragmatic about these things.

“Come on,” he said conspiratorially, a wicked glint in his eye. “Indulge me.”

Arthur sat back and folded his arms, putting up a show of resistance. “Indulging you rarely ends well for me, Phillip.”

“Please?”

Arthur rolled his eyes dramatically. “Fine,” he huffed as he moved to his feet and closed the laptop. Sexual proclivities aside, he was learning rather quickly he had a bit of a weakness for the bad boys.

* * *

“Wait,” whispered Arthur, feeling like the worst kind of intruder as he looked around the upstairs space they had invaded, a worried furrow starting to crease his brow. “Who’s room is this?” as Phillip bustled him through the curtains shielding the adjoining doors to another bedroom.

“Ssshhh, Arthur. She’ll be here any minute.”

Arthur felt the colour drain from his face as the realisation sunk in. “This is your sis—?” but he didn’t get to finish his sentence. In that moment, the door to his sister’s bedroom was flung open and in flounced all blossoming 16 years of Stephanie Plastow. 

* * *

_**Present Day** _

“Ahhh,” breathed Bond, inhaling deeply. “I love the smell of Jaffa in the morning.”

Q watched the push and pull in the crowded flea market, Bond making his way with relative ease despite the deluge of bodies, to the designated meeting point.

“And what does Jaffa smell like?”

“Haven’t you been this further afield, Q? Tel Aviv is a city worthy of your time.”

“I prefer to bring the world to me. Travel and I don’t much care for each other.”

“Mmmm,” said Bond. “We may have to rectify that.”

“Oh?” And how do you plan to do that, Mr Bond?” Q challenged.

“I have my methods,” Bond replied lightly. “Full of surprises me. You’ve barely scratched the surface, Q. And I imagine there are many more delights yet to discover beneath the cool veneer of my Quartermaster. I’m practically salivating at the thought,” he murmured as though lost in some weird fantasy involving Q, sedatives, a plane and a hotel room somewhere in the city.

“That might have more to do with the food vendor to your right, 007.”

Bond chuckled. “We’ll put this conversation on the back burner for now, Q. I think I’ve spotted my contact.”

He turned his body so the camera was facing the approaching woman. Q found himself squinting at the screen, her outline still a little blurry because of the signal. Memories dusted themselves off in the archives of his own mind. _Familiar_ , he thought to himself, _why does she look… so familiar…_

* * *

_ **Back in time, Back at the Plastow Home** _

The door was flung shut, her bag dropped unceremoniously on a nearby chair as Stephanie herself flopped backwards onto her bed.

“Men…” she muttered to herself, mouth thin, features drawn slightly, masking some of the real beauty beneath. 

She stood and began to divest herself of her clothes.

Arthur couldn’t tear his eyes away, biting his knuckles to keep from making any sounds that might betray their presence. He looked at Phillip who was smiling wickedly, all the while warring with his own mind thinking of ways of murdering his friend for putting him in such a precarious position while trying NOT to look at the graceful litheness swimming in front of his vision. _He'd never seen a naked girl, woman, whatever before. Wait... Does your mother count? No. Not unless you get aroused at the sight of your naked mum... Oh God..._

She was long and lean and while the beginnings of womanhood were just starting to make their presence felt, Stephanie’s obsession with a multitude of sporty activities meant she was all firm, hard planes of muscle beneath the barest of curves.

He glanced back at Phillip, watching him with evil amusement painted across his features, his smile not abated one little bit. It was only when she turned around that Arthur couldn’t contain the gasp that escaped his throat. Her back was covered in scars, some healing, some that looked barely a week old. 

Stephanie swung round at the sound and immediately strode towards the door in her still mostly nude state and grabbed to throw back the curtains. Both boys back away from the thunderous look on her face.

“What the hell do you two think you are doing?!” she screamed. “Out! OUT! OUT!!!”

Arthur didn’t have to be told twice. Until he felt the grab of her hand on his upper arm, dragged back to face her before he could complete his retreat.

The look in her eye was pure venom. The threat was clear. “And if you tell anyone, if you mutter a word to a single soul…” her face was inches from his, “…I will tell everyone what a pervert you are and you’ll be kicked out of that precious bloody school of yours so fast your head will end up in orbit.”

Arthur nodded, rendered mute in the wake of her fury and threats, before wrenching his arm free and making a swift exit. 

Needless to say, he didn’t study at the Plastows very often after that.

* * *

**Present Day, Tel Aviv.**

The contact made her way smoothly towards Bond, holding his gaze, while back in Q Division, the Quartermaster kept his gaze fixed firmly on her. She moved the shawl that had been covering the lower half of her face to reveal a demure smile.

_Eyes that have seen far too much_ , was Bond’s first thought, extending his hand in greeting.

“Mr Bond? A pleasure to meet you. I’m Stephanie Plastow.”


	5. Chapter 5

Q sipped his tea and grimaced. Cold. Hardly surprising, so engrossed he had become in absorbing the contents of the file of one Stephanie Plastow. Much of it was redacted but there was enough to provide the necessary parts of a puzzle that Q could piece together without much assistance or imagination.

Bond’s Tel Aviv mission had initially been to gather intel on a network of arms traffickers that were fuelling the already far from stable relations between Palestine and Israel.Not only weapons but someone highly skilled in weapons and ammunitions manufacturing were developing such that were easily portable but capable of blasting a hole in the side of a tank and render kevlar useless. Needless to say, Q was extremely keen to get his hands on said advances, either in blueprint form or in the flesh, so to speak… And he had made that desire known to his favourite agent.

_Bond watched the rise and fall of the back of his slumbering Quartermaster as he dressed to leave and catch his flight to Tel Aviv. He lay splayed out in his favoured position, face down, head half buried in pillows, looking as peaceful and serene as the two bundles of fur curled up at the bottom of his bed._

_He buttoned up his shirt as he approached the bed, admiring the scene before him. He was certain he’d seen a similar canvas hanging in the National Gallery, except this was solid, this was real, this was the man whom he trusted unequivocally with his life. A Double-O could get used to this, he thought to himself._

_He leaned down, with the intent to imprint a parting kiss, just as Q rolled onto his back and reached up to wrap a hand around the nape of Bond’s neck and pulled him towards parted lips instead. No complaints here, Bond thought with a smile._

_He nuzzled a cool cheek before Q lay back down again, his eyes still closed by sleep._

_“Want me to bring you anything back from Tel Aviv?” he whispered softly, tracing a thumb where his lips had just been._

_“My equipment for a start,” mumbled Q. Bond smiled. Somethings change, some, however, remained unshakably the same. “And any blueprints for new Israeli weaponry you might stumble across.”_

_Bond stood and swung his jacket over his shoulders. “I’ll see what I can do, Quartermaster.” And left Q to his dreams about gun-toting agents, fighting for our freedom._

The true identity of his contact had remained under a codename in case of any compromise that might have arisen in the interim. Stephanie Plastow was as stunningly gorgeous as Q remembered. Pretty much just the picture of sensual vulnerability Q recalled from his middle school days.What he hadn’t remembered for a long time, burying the incident deep no doubt because of the trauma it caused to think of it, was the abuse she had suffered at the hands of her father and of which he had briefly caught sight, crouched like a Peeping Tom in the shadows of her bedroom while she stripped herself naked. Q was not beyond still finding said incident cringeworthy and quite unbecoming of the man into whom he had grown.

Her file stated she was “missing, presumed dead.”

Evidently, Stephanie had found sufficient cause to go missing seven years ago, and while Q did not indulge in readily jumping to conclusions, so invested he was in science and fact, he had a strong suspicion her disappearance had something to do with those angry welts across her back. A dark secret she had kept locked away in her own head while threatening to divest one Arthur Clifton of his if he ever felt the urge come upon him to share what he had seen that night in her bedroom.

Q was angry. He looked at his cup. At least he could vent at his staff.

“THIS BLOODY CUP ISN’T GOING TO FILL ITSELF YOU KNOW!”

He remained engrossed in Stephanie Plastow’s file, partially aware of a ghost of a hand carefully lifting the cup and silently retreating.

Firmly placed in his multi-tasking mode, Q listened with one half of his processes to the conversation between Stephanie and 007, while continuing to absorb the contents of her file, or what little they did know about her. It would seem a lot had happened since her disappearance.

Q watched her tired but beautiful face contort on his screen, nothing to do with the satellite signal. “The outer cells of the operation never remain static for long, much of what they do is virtual. In the ether. They are like ghosts,” she said to Bond, looking up from their table in the outside cafe at the bustling market, the oblivious masses, the ignorant humanity.

She reached out then to touch his forearm, make a connection. There was hope in her eyes. “But my concern is not for the gun trafficking, Mr Bond.” She sat back again. “As far as I’m concerned, men can go on killing each other and save the passage of normal time the trouble of taking them out.”

“A rather brutal perspective, Miss Plastow? Though one I’m sure originates from—“

“From experience, Mr Bond. Sometimes, brutality is the only language men understand and to make them understand, you must learn to speak their language.”

“The gun trafficking is only the tip of the iceberg,” she continued, raising her bottle of water to parched lips.

“Oh?”

“It’s the commodity that is being used to buy and sell the arms with which I am more concerned.”

Both men, one on the other side of the world, the other sitting across from her, felt the truth and pain in her next words.

“Teenage girls.”

Neither man spoke, absorbing the knowledge of this new development, its impact on the mission and the immense complications it would throw their way. The reason she had now came out of hiding apparent.

_“Missing, presumed dead.”_

And yet here she was, risking life and limb to save other women who had ended up being used as bargaining chips in a fucked up world because, let’s face it, women just ask for it by the simple situation of being _born with a pussy._

_Bravo ladies._

"And boys," she added for good measure.

Q sighed and tilted his head back to look at the ceiling, imagined for a moment it was glass and hoped to God that when it broke, he wouldn’t scar himself or Bond too much in the process.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Valentine's gift for the one to whom this work is gifted. (You know who you are.) I am writing "What happened in Tel Aviv" but will post as an afterthought. I feel the need to share this, given my motivation behind this work has been Q and Bond morphing into 00Q. Forgive me. Happy Valentine's Day Readers, and if you would like to know what happened in Tel Aviv, please do comment. I love writing them. I love as much that you read them. :)

**_Three Days Later…_ **

Q was sitting in his office. He still had two hours before he clocked off for the day. He knew Bond was back off mission and currently in the building, Tel Aviv done and dusted. 

He didn’t have to wait long for the unmistakeable rap of 007’s knuckles on his door. He strode into the room without pause. Q stood from his chair while they appraised each other briefly in the semi-dark. Bond spoke first, tossing a folder on Q’s desk. “My report.”

“Thank you,” Q replied flatly, reaching for the file.

Bond turned as if to go, but paused with his fingers on the handle of the door. “I couldn’t do it.”

Q looked up from his perusal. “Excuse me?” He could barely see Bond, stood as he was just beyond the dark side of the halo of light beaming from the desk lamp.

“Stephanie.” He took a step forward. Q could now see his eyes, sparkling blue with raw truth. Truth, want and need.

And frankly, Q was in no mood to deny himself either.

All Bond needed was one gesture of invitation. So Q gave it to him. 

Q took a breath and hit ENT on his keyboard.

“You have exactly 140 seconds to do whatever it is you have to do, Bond.”

Because Q was usually one step ahead of himself, a trait he had found kept him on his own toes, he had made the necessary prep to the system that would disrupt the camera feed in his office, including several more random and slightly more important areas, for approximately three minutes. There was no doubt in his mind now, watching the agent, that given the state of Bond’s own, it wouldn’t take any longer to take care of business. Take care of Bond before one or more of the Q Division minions came stumbling into his office to ensure that there was indeed nothing more than a computer glitch about which to be concerned.

“Long enough,” growled Bond, turning to lock the door before rounding the table, freeing the file from Q’s hands and wrestling him against the back wall. “I am going to _destroy_ you, Q,” voice hot with promise, eyes dark with desire, “in less time than it takes you to savour your first cup of Earl Grey…” he whispered against his lips, reaching for his belt before undoing his own with deft fingers. He didn’t even bother to take off his overcoat, pressing Q firm and unrelenting against the cool surface behind them. Taking them both in hand, his eyes never left Q’s. Q didn’t flinch, staring right back, his lack of resistance all the invitation Bond needed. This was business. This was the demands of the toughest job in the world breaking the surface of steely control for just a moment in time, a demand for release that must be met lest Bond do something stupid. Well, more stupid than usual. More stupid than taking the Quartermaster in his own office.

“90 seconds, 007,” Q whispered, as he sunk clawing fingers into his shoulders, tugging hard at the overcoat.

Q felt the heat coil, simultaneous and mutual. The steady thud of pounding hearts and pumping blood fled strong and fast through burning veins. Bond dropped his fixed stare from Q’s eyes and let himself go, feeling the pieces of himself come back together. He was swiftly followed by his partner, neither capable of or wanting to prolong the experience. The need for satisfaction raw as the press of clothes-covered flesh pushing them both to completion.

Bond released them both and tidied himself up, his breath returning to normal in no time at all, a testament to his fitness. He took hold of Q’s hands when they moved to also adjust himself back into something vaguely presentable and dropped down onto his knees in front of him. Lifting his sweater, he pressed his lips to Q’s stomach with a whispered “thank you” voiced against warm, moist skin. Q lightly touched Bond’s hair, running his fingers gently over the back of his head and coming to rest on his cheek. In all their times together, he couldn’t recall Bond in such a demonstratively intimate and vulnerable position. He stood quickly and did up his overcoat to cover the evidence of their liaison while Q took care of himself with equal speed. As Bond unlocked the door and took a seat, Q hit ESC on his laptop and normality was restored.

And when Tanner left the room thirty seconds later, confident that MI6 internal security wasn’t falling down around their ears, Bond left Q’s office shortly thereafter with a parting look that suggested a certain Quartermaster was in for a very long night ahead involving zero paperwork but a lot of debriefing.

* * *

“Do I need to apologise for earlier?” James asked, a weary head resting on Arthur’s chest.

“Not at all,” he replied with a smile, hand roaming absently down James’ spine.

“I saw the picture you know. The day after the funeral at Dover.” Arthur’s hand stilled, recalling the day. The day when he had said goodbye to the one great passion in his life, not yet realising that he was standing beside the next. “You and Charles together. He was very attractive. Makes me wonder what you see in this old dog.”

“Why, Commander Bond. Do I detect a note of insecurity? That won’t do at all. Might have to report this development to M.”

Arthur felt the smile against his chest as James turned his head to give his lips free purchase across the man’s bare torso.

Arthur laid it on the line, speaking through parted lips pressed close against the crown of James’ head. “You, James bloody Bond, are an entirely different beast. I've changed. And though I’ll never stop loving him I’ve accepted, not without the occasional ache, that Charles is gone. But you,” he said, enveloping the agent in his arms, “are right here.”

“Every cloud and all that…” he murmured through a kiss to his lips laced with the message, loud and clear. As long as Arthur Clifton, Quartermaster had his back, James Bond, 007 would always feel safe, be safe, come home. 

Safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue pending... GMT 1947h Valentine's Day, London. :)


	7. Epilogue

Q stood at his post.

“I was hoping to put in a request with Q Division,” Bond’s voice came crisp and clear in his ear, Q watching the bustling streets of Rio De Janeiro on his screen as Bond sat and watched the world go by.

“Oh? Well I can’t promise anything and knowing you, I’ll probably have to clear it with M…”

“An inflatable Q?” he asked, tone level and casual. “You know, just to get me through the slightly more lonesome and boring missions until I get back to London.”

Tanner went pale and started coughing across the comms to make sure he was heard before Bond said anything else that might cause him an aneurism.

Q sighed with the patience of a parent who was having said patience severely tried. “It might benefit you to know 007, that Tanner is on this line as well. So if you could keep the sweet nothings to a minimum it might be in the best interests of all concerned.”

“Hello, Tanner,” Bond said smoothly, seemingly completely unabashed at the presence of a third party. _Shameless arse._

“Hello, 007,” Tanner replied through a series of fidgets. “Now, where were we?”

“I was enquiring about an infl—?” 

“BOND!”

“Sorry Q,” the teasing smile evident even though Q couldn’t see it.

“Patience is a virtue that has its own reward,” said Q, his fingers dancing with light precision across his keyboard.

“I’ll hold you to that, Quartermaster.”

“I’m counting on it, 007.”

 

END


End file.
